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Description
In its tradition of being an up-to-date, relevant and user-driven textbook, Kreitner
and Kinicki's approach to organizational behavior is based on the authors' belief
that reading a comprehensive textbook is hard work; however, the process should
be interesting and sometimes even fun. The authors' commitment to continuous
improvement makes complex ideas understandable through clear and concise
explanations, contemporary examples, a visually appealing photo/art program,
and/or learning exercises. The authors respond to user feedback by ensuring the
text covers the very latest OB research and practices.
Key topics, such as diversity in organisations, ethics, and globalisation, are
recommended by the Association to Advance Collegiate Schools of Business
(AACSB) and the Association of Collegiate Business Schools and Programs (ACBSP).

Wolf branding book cover: Wolves remain a central theme for Kreitner and Kinicki
because they view wolves as an instructive and inspiring metaphor for modern
Organizational Behavior. Wolves are dedicated team players, great
communicators, and adaptable. These are quintessential attributes for success in
today's workplace.

About the Author

Senior Lecturer in Management at Arizona State university. He is a popular

speaker who has addressed a diverse array of audiences worldwide on topics
including the 21st century workplace.
Professor of management at Arizona State University. He received the Instructor
of the Year Award for executive Education from the center for executive
development in the college of business administration at ASU.

Product details

 Publisher : McGraw-Hill Education; 10th edition (January 17, 2012)

 Language : English

 Hardcover : 672 pages

 ISBN-10 : 0078029368

 ISBN-13 : 978-0078029363

 Item Weight : 3.5 pounds

 Dimensions : 9 x 1.25 x 11 inches

 Best Sellers Rank: #259,058 in Books

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“Yes. We’d better rouse the men and get right up there. There may
be danger if the valley gets flooded.”
Tug did not wait for the others. His words had expressed only palely
the alarm he felt. If the break in the dam was a serious one—and it
must be to have reached the mesa so quickly—the Quarter Circle
must inevitably be flooded. He knew Betty was at her ranch. One of
the men had mentioned in his hearing that he had seen her and Ruth
going up the afternoon before. He was worried—very greatly
worried.
His long strides carried him over the ground fast, but his fears moved
faster. Presently he quickened his pace to a run. Dawn was at hand.
He was splashing through water five or six inches deep.
Swinging round a bend in the road, he pulled up for a moment in
dismay. Through the gap in the hogback, beyond which was the
Quarter Circle D E ranch, a solid stream of water was pouring. Its
flow was as steady and as constant as that of a river.
Cut off from the road, he splashed through a deepening stream to
the foot of the hogback. It was a stiff quarter of an hour’s climb to
reach the rock-rim below the ridge. He grudged the two or three
minutes’ delay in finding a practicable ascent up the twenty-five-foot
rim, for he was in a desperate hurry. Hand over hand he went up the
face of the rock, clinging to projecting knobs, to faults in the surface,
and to shrubbery rooted in narrow crevices. Over the edge of the
sandstone he drew himself to the level surface above.
One glance from the summit showed him a valley submerged. Most
of the cattle had evidently escaped to the higher ground, warned by
the first of the flood as it poured down. He could see the upper
hillside dotted with them. The barn, the bunkhouse, the ranch house
itself, were all gone. Fragments of them might be made out on the
surface of the lake that had formed—if one could call a pent-up,
raging torrent by such a name.
His eyes swept the valley in search of the ranch house. He found
one of the eaves sticking out of the current. All the rest of the
overturned building was under water.
The strength oozed from his body. He was terribly shaken. If Betty
was in the house—and he had no reason to suppose that she was
not—she must have gone down in the flood. He could not, he would
not believe it. And yet—
Again his glance moved down the valley. His gaze stopped at some
rock spires known as the “Steeples.” Some part of a building, much
battered by the waves, was caught there. Even as he looked, his
heart leaped. For from a window a white flag was streaming. He
could see now that some one was leaning out and waving a sheet or
a tablecloth.
He hurried down the hogback, every nerve of him quivering with
desire to answer that appeal for help. He must get to her—at once—
before the smashing current tore down and devoured her precarious
and doubtful haven. Even as he went leaping down the hillside to the
shore, his mind was considering ways and means.
A swimmer could not make it straight through the tumbling waters to
the Steeples. He would be swept down and miss his goal. From what
point should he start? He tried to decide this as he ran up the valley
close to the edge of the water.
Opposite the point where the pasture-wire fence ran up the hill, a spit
of higher land extended into the flooded area. He found a cedar post
flung up by the waves.
Tug took off his shoes and his coat. He waded out, pushing the post
before him. Presently he was in deep water. The swift current was
sweeping him before it. He fought to get farther out in the stream, but
he saw that the fencepost was impeding him. It came to him that he
would be carried past the Steeples if he could not make more
headway across the valley.
He let the fencepost go and struck straight across with a strong, long
stroke. The drag of the rushing water was very powerful, and he had
continually to watch out for floating planks and timbers racing toward
the gap between the hogbacks.
The cold from the melted snow in the uplands chilled him to the
marrow. He had not fully rebuilt his blood from the illness he had
been through. Before he had been in the stream many minutes, he
knew that the force in him was failing. The velocity of the flow was
too mighty for him to resist. Tossed here and there by conflicting sets
of the current, he drifted as helplessly as a chip in a rough sea. His
arms moved feebly. His legs were as though weighted. Soon now, he
had no doubt, his head would sink and the waters close above it.
Then, out of a clear sky, a miracle occurred. It took the form of a
rope that dropped from heaven, descended in a loop over his head
and one arm, tightened, and dragged him from the racing channel
into an eddy.
Three men were at the other end of the rope. They were standing on
the roof of a one-story building that had stranded on a submerged
island. A group of three cottonwoods had caught the floating building
and held it against the pressure of the flood.
The exhausted swimmer was dragged to the roof. He lay there,
completely done, conscious, but no more than that.
“Where in Mexico you haided for, anyhow?” a voice drawled.
Hollister looked up. The speaker was the cowboy Dusty, who had
once dragged him back to the Diamond Bar K ranch at the end of a
rope. One of the others he recognized as the lank rider Burt, who
also had been present on that occasion.
“Lucky you were here,” the rescued man said. “I was all in.”
“Tha’s twice I done roped you,” Dusty reminded him. “I sure got
bawled out proper last time. Say, howcome you in this Arctic Ocean,
anyhow?”
“I was trying to reach Betty Reed. She’s in a broken bit of the house
at the Steeples. At least some one is.”
“It’s her all right. We drifted down here ’bout an hour ago. She’s been
singin’.”
“Singing?”
“Hymns. ‘How Firm a Foundation,’ an’ like that. Her an’ the kid an’
Mandy. Say, fellow, it’s been one heluva night if any one asks you.”
Burt spoke. “Was you tryin’ to swim to where Miss Betty’s at? You’ve
got guts. You didn’t hardly have a chanct with all the water in the hills
a-b’ilin’ down.”
“She can’t be far from here if you heard her sing.”
“Not fur. Mebbe a hundred yards. Mebbe twice that fur. But I wouldn’t
tackle that swim for a million dollars. I never claimed to be no fish,”
Dusty explained.
“Downstream from here?”
“Yep. Over thataway. See the Steeples through the trees?” The
cowboy asked for information: “How much longer do you reckon the
water from yore dam is gonna keep on comin’?”
“Not much longer now.”
“Well, I’ve sure had a plenty. An’ they call this a dry country.”
“Wish you’d rub my arms and legs. I’m cold,” the engineer said.
They massaged him till he glowed.
Tug stepped to the edge of the roof and studied the current.
Presently he spoke to the others. “Much obliged for your help, boys.
I’ll be going now.”
“Going where?” asked Dusty, mouth open from astonishment.
“To the Steeples.”
“You darned son of a gun! What’s got into you, fellow? You been
drowned once to-day—’most. Ain’t that enough?”
“I can make it there now.”
“Never in the world.” The puncher was emphatic. “We come through
by the skin of our teeth, with a roof under us. This ain’t no swimmin’-
pool. If you know when you’re well off, you’ll stay where you’re at.”
Tug did not wait to argue the matter. His business would not wait. He
waved a hand and dived from the roof.
The problem before him was a simple one. Whether it could be
solved, he did not know. While being carried down, he must fight his
way as far across the valley as possible. He might be swept close to
the Steeples and yet not be able to make a landing. If he failed to do
this, he was lost.
He did not stop to see what headway he was making. All his energy
went into the strokes with which he cleft the water. With every ounce
he had he fought to gain distance. Within a minute or two he would
know whether he had won.
A log careened down. He stopped swimming, in order not to be
struck. The current flung him round. Just below him were the spires
of rock for which he was making.
In another moment the current was driving him past. A long pole
stuck out into the water from the wreck of the house and rose and
fell with the swell. He caught hold of this and flung his body across it.
Precariously he clung, several times almost losing his hold. He
edged along it, carefully, until he had worked into the shell of the
house. One wall was gone entirely. Another had been partially ripped
out. Through these openings the river raced.
Tug let go the telephone pole to which he had been clinging and
swam to the stairway. Here he found a foothold and sank down, half
in the water and half out. Again the strength had gone out of him.
Then, marvelously, as he lay there panting, the icy chill clutching at
his heart, there came to him a clear, warm voice raised in a hymn.
Betty’s voice! His heart exulted. He listened to the brave words,
gallantly sung.
She was singing, “Hold the Fort.”
 CHAPTER XXXVIII
BEYOND A SHADOW OF A DOUBT

“Do you fink Jesus will come, Betty?” a small voice inquired
anxiously.
“I think he’ll send some one, dear—Dad or Lon or—some one.”
Ruth considered. “Do you fink he’ll send him in time for bweakfast?
I’m offul hungwy.”
Betty did not know about breakfast, but aloud she quite confidently
thought so. Hope was resurgent in her heart. The worst of the flood
was over. Its level had already receded two or three inches. She had
just discovered that. Within the past hour its fury had beaten in and
torn away one wall of the house. Another had been partially
destroyed. The shell of a building that was left could not much longer
endure. But she did not believe that much time would pass before a
rescue was attempted. A few minutes since she had heard Dusty’s
cheerful shout, and, though he was probably marooned himself, it
was a comfort to know that her party was not the only one in the
devastated valley.
“My fry-pans an’ my cook-stove an’ my kitchen are plumb scattered
every which way. I reckon I nevah will see them no mo’,” Mandy
mourned. “An’ las’ week I done bought dem luminous dishes frum
dat peddler.”
“Aluminum, Mandy.”
“Das all right. Luminous or luminum, I ain’ carin’ which. What I wuz
sayin’ is—”
Mandy stopped, to let out a yell of fright. A dripping figure, hatless,
coatless, shoeless, was standing at the head of the stairs. The face
was white and haggard. The body drooped against the door jamb for
support.
Straight from Betty’s heart a cry of joy leaped. He had come to her.
Through all the peril of the flood he had come to her.
“Tug!” she cried, irradiate, and moved to him with hands
outstretched.
He was profoundly touched, but his words reflected the
commonplace of the surface mind. “I’m wet,” he warned.
She laughed that to scorn, a little hysterically, and went blindly into
his arms, a smirr of mist in her eyes. All night she had been under a
strain, had carried the responsibility of facing peril for all of them.
Now she cast that burden, without a moment’s hesitation, on broader
shoulders.
His lip trembled. “I was afraid,” he whispered, as his arms went
round her. “Horribly afraid till Dusty told me he’d heard you singing.”
“Oh, I’m glad you’ve come! I’m glad!” she wailed softly.
He held her close, as though he were afraid that even yet malign fate
might try to snatch her from him. Beyond a shadow of a doubt he
knew now that if they lived nothing could keep them apart. She had
been right. The sin that had held him from her was a dead and
shriveled thing. It was no more a part of him than are discarded
horns part of a living stag.
Tug murmured, with emotion, “Thank God! Thank God!”
Into this stress of feeling Ruth interjected herself. She saw no reason
for being out of the picture.
“Did Jesus send you?” she asked, tugging at his shirt-sleeve.
He did not quite understand.
Ruth explained, with the impatience of superiority. “Why, don’chu
know? ‘Hold the fort, f’r I am comin’, Jesus signals still.’ Betty said ’f
he didn’t come he’d send some one.”
“I’m sure God sent him,” Betty said, her voice unsteady.
“Bress de Lawd,” Mandy chimed in. “Now you git us off’n this yere
busted house, Mr. Man, fer I don’ like no rampagin’ roun’ thisaway on
no ocean v’yages.”
Betty explained that he could not get them off just yet. They would
have to wait to be rescued.
“Whaffor he come ’f he ain’ gwine rescue us?” Mandy sniffed.
The girl smiled into the eyes of her lover. She knew why he had
come, and in his presence by some magic the fear had dropped from
her heart. The current dragging at their tottering place of refuge
could not shake her sure confidence that all was well with them.
Hollister looked the situation over with the trained eye of an
engineer. He must get them to the rocks before what was left of the
house collapsed. But how? He could not take them with him through
the waves beating against the sandstone. It was not certain that he
could make a safe landing himself.
But if he could reach the flat ledge above, he might contrive some
kind of bridge out of the dead and down trees lying there. It would be
a hazardous affair, but he was in no position to be choice about ways
and means.
Briefly he explained to Betty his plan. She clung to him, tremulously,
reluctant to let him go.
“Must you?” she murmured, and shuddered at the black waters
rushing past. “Must you go in again? Couldn’t we just wait here?”
“’Fraid not, dear. You feel how the house is shaking. It can’t last long.
We’ve got to reach the rocks.”
“It’s been pretty awful, Tug. When the wall was swept out, I thought
—” She shook that appalling memory out of her mind and smiled at
him, shyly, adorably. “I’m not afraid as long as you’re here.”
“Don’t be afraid,” he reassured. “I think I can do it, Betty.”
“Can’t I help?”
“Yes. Knot together two sheets to make a rope. I’ll need it later.”
He dropped from a window, found himself caught in an irresistible
tide that swept him away like a chip. It was all over in a moment. He
was whirled round and dashed into the rocks. The impact knocked
the breath out of him. He clung, desperately, to a jutting spar of
sandstone, hardly conscious of what he was doing.
The life went out of him. When he came to consciousness, he lay on
the shelf, feet and legs still in the water. He noticed that his head
was bleeding and for an instant wondered what it was all about.
Betty’s voice reached him. “Tug! Tug!”
She was leaning out of the window of the tossing house.
He rose and waved a hand. Strength flowed back to him in waves.
The haze lifted from his brain. He visualized the problem of the
bridge and set about meeting it.
The dead trees on the ledge were young pines. They had been
broken off from the roots, probably blown from the crevices because
they were insufficiently rooted. He dragged one to the edge of the
sloping surface of the boulder and raised it till it was upright.
“Back from the window, Betty,” he shouted.
Her head and shoulders disappeared. He balanced the tree-trunk
carefully, measured the distance again with his eye, and let it fall
toward the house. The end of it crashed through the window panes
and landed on the casing.
Tug dragged forward a second pole, shouted a warning to Betty
once more, and balanced the pine carefully. A second later it toppled
forward, urged by a slight push, and the butt dropped into the casing
beside the others.
On this frail bridge Tug crept on hands and knees toward the
building. The house tilted down and back. The end of the logs
slipped. Betty clung to them, desperately, while Hollister edged
forward.
“I’ll take that rope,” he told the girl.
Mandy handed out the sheets. As the bridge swayed and dipped, he
knotted the linen round the logs, tying them together in two places. It
was a hazardous business, but he got through with it safely.
A few seconds later he was in the bedroom.
“Ruth first,” said Betty.
Tug nodded. “Tie her to my back. She might get frightened and let
loose.”
The child whimpered as he crept out upon the logs.
“Betty’s coming too in a minute,” her sister called cheerfully. “Just
shut your eyes, Ruthie, and hang tight.”
The narrow suspension bridge swung dizzily with every lift of the
racing flood. Tug inched along, his feet locked together beneath the
water that reached for him. Once he lost his balance from a lurch of
the logs, but he managed to recover himself. Ruth screamed.
“All right, dear,” he told her, and presently was pulling himself upon
the rocks.
Hollister left the little girl there and recrossed to the building. Betty
crawled out on the bridge, the man close behind her.
She looked down, and was appalled. The pour of the stream that
was so close carried the power of a mountain river in flood. Her body
swayed. She could never get across—never in the world.
The voice of her lover came, strong and comforting. “Steady, Bess.
We’re all right.”
His assurance went through her veins like wine. Tug was behind her.
Of course, they would reach the rocks.
The logs dipped almost to the water at the middle. A monster that
seemed to be alive dragged at her feet.
“Oh, Tug!” she cried.
“Keep going. We’re almost across.”
And presently they were, safe on the slanting sandstone shelf.
He returned for Mandy.
“I cayn’t nevah git acrost on that there rickety rack,” she moaned. “I’d
bust dem poles spang in two.”
Hollister was not sure himself that they would hold her weight, but he
knew that before many minutes the house was going to break up. He
coaxed and urged her to the attempt, and after she began the
crossing he clung to the end of the bridge with all his weight.
How Mandy got across none of them ever knew. She stopped twice
to announce that she could not do it, but after more exhortation
continued edging along. To the very moment when Betty reached a
hand to her, she insisted that she was going to be drownded.
Not three minutes after Tug had crossed to the rock shelf, the shell
of the house shivered and collapsed. It went out with a rush, and
presently was nothing but a lot of floating planks.
Betty watched it go, with trembling lips. “If you hadn’t come,” she
murmured.
His soul went out to her in swift response. “I had to come. It wasn’t
chance. That’s how it was meant to be. Why not? Why wouldn’t I be
near enough to come when you needed me?”
She caught his hand. “You dear boy,” she breathed.
“There’s nobody like you—nobody I ever met,” he cried in a whisper,
as lovers have done since Adam first wooed Eve. “Could any one
have done more for me than you? Your faith rebuilt my life. If I’m
ever anything, I owe it to you. And now—the greatest gift of all. Why
to me? Why not to Merrick, far more worthy of you?”
In her smile was the world-old wisdom Leonardo has expressed in
his Mona Lisa.
“Love doesn’t go by merit, does it? I wonder if Justin isn’t too worthy.
He’s perfect in himself—complete. He doesn’t need me.”
“God knows I need you, if that’s a reason,” he said humbly. “But it’s
not fair to you.”
“Was it Justin who swam through the flood to save me?” she asked
softly, her face aglow.
“He’s doing a much more sensible thing—building a raft to get you
ashore.”
“Who wants her lover to do the sensible thing?” She turned to him
impulsively, warm, tender, luminous, a rapt young thing caught in a
surge of generous emotion. “I’d want mine to do just what you did—
come through water or through fire instantly when I needed you. I’d
love you now, if I never had before.”
“And if Merrick had come?”
“He couldn’t come. It wouldn’t be Justin to do that—to fling his life
away on a thousandth chance. Don’t you see, Tug? He doesn’t tread
the mountain-tops—and you do.”
“I see you’re always giving. If I could only wipe the slate out, Betty—
begin my life over again to-day,” he said wistfully.
In her deep, soft eyes a dream lingered. “That’s just what I want—to
begin everything with you. It’s silly, but I’m jealous of all those years
when I didn’t have you—of all the sorrows and joys you’ve had, of
the girls and the men you’ve known—because I can’t share them
with you. I’ve got to know all you think and share all your hopes. If
you ever think, ‘She’s just my wife—’”
“Never that. Always, ‘She’s my wife,’” he promised.
“As long as you say it that way, Tug,” she murmured, and clung to
him with a little feminine savagery of possession.
Ruth, impatient at being ignored, again claimed attention.
“Talk to me, too,” she ordered.
Tug caught her small hand in his. “Of course, we’ll talk to little sister.”
“Are you my big brother?” she asked.
Betty stooped and snatched the child to her. “He’s going to be,” she
whispered.
Upon this Ruth set the seal of her approval. “Goody, I like him. An’
he’ll get me heaps ’n’ heaps of tandy. More’n anybody.”
 CHAPTER XXXIX
THE TURN OF A CROOKED TRAIL

Jake Prowers had intended, while the work of destruction was

under way, to return to his ranch and let it take its course. The body
of Cig would be found, and the tramp would be blamed for the
disaster. It would be remembered that he had already tried once to
blow up the workers in the tunnel.
The cowman knew that public opinion would not hold him blameless.
He would be suspected of instigating the crime, but, with Cig out of
the way, nothing could be proved. There would not be the least
evidence that could touch him. He had done a good job in getting rid
of the New York crook. Moreover, he had not lifted a hand against
the man. Was he to blame because a drunken loafer lay down and
deliberately went to sleep where a charge of dynamite would shortly
blow him up?
The wise course, Prowers knew, was to retire for a time to the
background and to be greatly surprised when he was told that the
dam had gone out. But there was in him a desire stronger than
prudence. He wanted to see the flood racing through the Quarter
Circle D E and its waters being wasted on the Flat Tops which they
were to have reclaimed. Half his pleasure in the evil thing he had
done would be lost if he could not be on the ground to gloat over
Clint Reed and Merrick.
Before the night had fully spent itself, he was on his way to the
Quarter Circle D E. The sun was almost up over the hilltops by the
time he looked down from the rim of the little valley upon the havoc
he had wrought. The ranch buildings were all gone, though he could
see battered remnants of them in the swirling stream. Fences had
been rooted out. A young orchard below the house was completely
submerged.
The destruction was even greater than he had anticipated. It had not
occurred to him that any lives would be lost, but he judged now that
the men at the ranch had probably been drowned.
His interest drew him closer, to a point from which he could see the
lower part of the valley. He made here two discoveries. Three men
were out in the flooded district on the roof of a low building. Another
group, on the shore line below him, were building two rafts, evidently
with a rescue in mind.
One of the workmen caught sight of Prowers and called to him. Jake
decided it was better to go down, since he had been recognized.
He glanced at the dam engineer and subdued a cackle. It might
easily be possible to go too far just now.
“You move yore reservoir down here last night, Merrick?” he asked
maliciously. “Wisht I’d ’a’ known. I’d kinda liked to ’a’ seen you
bringin’ it down.”
Merrick said nothing. He continued to trim an edge from a plank with
a hatchet. But though he did not look at Prowers his mind was full of
him. He had been thinking about him all morning. Why had the dam
gone out? Had it been dynamited? Was this the work of him and his
hangers-on?
“’Seems like you might ’a’ let a fellow know,” the cowman
complained in his high, thin voice.
Black appeared, dragging a plank he had salvaged. He looked at
Prowers, and instantly his mind was full of suspicion. He had known
the old man thirty years.
“’Lo, Don,” continued Jake with an amiable edge of irony. “Always
doing some neighborly good deed, ain’t you? You’ll be a Boy Scout
by an’ by if you don’t watch out.”
Black looked at him with level eyes. “Howcome you here so early,
Jake?”
“Me! On my way to Wild Horse. Come to that, I’m some surprised to
see you, Don.”
“I been workin’ for Mr. Merrick,” the range rider said curtly. “That’s
why I’m here. But mostly when you go to Wild Horse you don’t
ramble round by the Quarter Circle, Jake. I’m kinda wonderin’ how
you happened round this way.”
“Huntin’ for a two-year-old reported strayed over thisaway. Lucky I
came. I’ll be able to help.” He turned to Merrick unctuously, his
bleached eyes mildly solicitous. “If the’s a thing on earth I can do,
why I’m here to go to it.”
The men were carrying one of the rafts to the edge of the water.
Merrick gave his whole attention to the business of manning and
equipping it.
“This raft heads for the Steeples,” he announced. “Two volunteers
wanted to steer it.”
Black stopped chewing tobacco. “How about you ’n’ me, Jake?” he
asked quietly.
For once Prowers was taken at disadvantage. “I ain’t any sailor,
Don.”
“None of us are. But you offered to help. ’Course, if you’re scared.”
The cattleman’s head moved forward, his eyes narrowed. “Did you
say scared?”
“Sure. Last time I seen you, Jake, you was guessin’ I had a yellow
streak. I’m wonderin’ that about you now. I’m aimin’ to go on this
boat. Are you?” The range rider’s gaze bored into the eyes of the
man he had served so long. It was chill and relentless as steel.
Prowers was no coward, but he had not the least intention of
voyaging across the flood in so frail a craft.
“Too old, Don. I ain’t strong as some o’ these young bucks. You go
on, an’ when you come back we’ll settle about that yellow streak for
good an’ all.”
The raft set out on its perilous journey. A young surveyor had offered
to go as the second member of the crew.
Pegs had been driven into the edges of the raft for rowlocks. The
oars had been hastily fashioned out of planking.
The float drifted into the rapid water and was caught by the current.
Black and his companion pulled lustily to make headway across
stream. There was a minute of desperate struggle before the craft
swung round, driven by the force of water tumbling pell-mell down.
A rowlock snapped. Black’s oar was dragged from his hand. A log
crashed into the raft and buckled it up. Caught by a cross-tide, the
two who had been flung into the water were swept into an eddy.
They swam and clambered ashore.
It had not been five minutes since Black had embarked on this
adventure, but, as he moved up the shore toward the little group of
men he had left, he saw that something unexpected had developed.
Prowers was in the saddle and he had his gun out. It was
threatening Merrick’s group of rescuers. The cattleman’s thin, high
voice came clear to the range rider.
“Don’t you touch me! Don’t you! I’ll fill you full of lead sure’s you
move an inch, Merrick.”
Then, swiftly, he swung his horse round and galloped away.
Out of the hubbub of explanation Black gathered the facts. The man
whom Prowers had lured from the dam with a message that his wife
was worse had stopped for later information at a ranch house on the
way down. He had telephoned his house and talked with his wife. He
was perplexed, but relieved. After an hour’s chat at the ranch, he
had headed for the dam and reached the scene in time to identify
Prowers as he left.
A minute ago he had arrived and told what he knew. The engineer
had accused Prowers point-blank of the crime. His men had talked of
lynching, and Prowers had fled.
Black did not discuss the situation. He returned to camp, saddled a
horse, and took from his roll of bedding a revolver. Five minutes later
he was jogging into the hills. A day of settlement had come between
him and the man who had deflected him from the straight and well-
worn trails of life.
He knew the size of his job. Jake was a bad man with a gun, swift as
chain lightning, deadly accurate in aim. It was not likely that he would
let himself be taken alive. The chances were that any man who
engaged in a duel with him would stay on the field of battle. Don
accepted this likelihood quietly, grimly. He meant to get Jake
Prowers, to bring him in alive if possible, dead, if he must.
The range rider had no qualms of conscience. Prowers had probably
drowned several innocent people, very likely Betty and her little
sister among them. The fellow was dangerous as a mad wolf. The
time had come to blot him out. He, Don Black, was the man that
ought to do it. If Jake surrendered, good enough; he would take him
to Wild Horse. If not—
So his simple mind reasoned foggily. He was essentially a deputy
sheriff, though, of course, he had not had time to get Daniels to
appoint him. That was merely a formality, anyhow.
Don rode straight to the Circle J P ranch. He swung from the saddle
and dropped the lines in front of the house. As he did so, he noticed
two buzzards circling high in the sky.
Prowers must have seen him coming, for when Don turned toward
the porch the little man was standing there watching him. Black
moved forward, spurs jingling.
His eyes did not lift from those of Prowers. At the foot of the steps he
stopped. “I’ve come after you, Jake,” he said evenly.
The skim-milk eyes in the leathery face narrowed. They were hard
and shining pin-points of wary challenge.
“What for, Don?”
“For blowin’ up the dam, you yellow wolf.”
“Then come a-shootin’.”
The forty-fives blazed. The roar of them filled the air. Across the
narrow range between the two men bullets stabbed with deadly
precision.
Black swayed on his feet. He knew he was shot through and through
in several places, that he could count his life in minutes, perhaps in
seconds. Through the smoke rifts he could see the crouching figure
flinging death at him. Still firing, he sank to his knees. He could no
longer lift the revolver, and as his body plunged to the ground the
last cartridge was exploded into the sod.
Down the steps toward him rolled the shrunken form of his foe,
slowly, without volition, every muscle lax. They lay close to each
other, only their eyes alive to glare defiance till the film of dissolution
shadowed them.
They must have passed out within a few seconds of each other.
 CHAPTER XL
BETTY DISCOVERS WHY SHE IS YOUNG

From the house Tug had brought matches with him. He gathered
pine boughs and lit a fire upon the rock slab. The warmth of it went
through them and restored their diminished vitality.
“The water’s going down fast,” Betty said. “See the rock. It’s several
inches lower.”
“Yes. Merrick will be here soon.”
Except for Ruth and Mandy, the girl did not care how long he was.
She was young, and in love. Beside her sat the man who was to be
her mate. A flash of the eye brought happiness. A touch of the hand
thrilled.
Even when she did not look at him, she was acutely conscious of his
presence. Without turning her head she saw the line of the razor
stroke where the golden down ceased on his tanned cheek, was
aware of the gallant set of the fine head on strong shoulders. Oh, it
was good to be near him, to know that out of all the millions of men
in the world she had found her mate. There was in her a strange, a
primitive, instinct to accept his leadership, a desire to be subject to
his wishes and commands.
She smiled. This was not like her. Perhaps it was a merely
temporary aberration.
“Are we really all alike?” she asked herself, trying to understand this
love-complex that already was changing her point of view. “We want
to be free, want to express ourselves. We’re thinking of nothing else.
And then—enter a man. Our house of cards comes toppling down,
and we don’t care a bit. Sometimes, of course, he isn’t the right man.
Then—tragedy, I suppose.”
The young philosopher, looking at her hero, was very sure he was
the right man. Her certainty went beyond evidence, beyond faith.
Merrick’s raft reached them about noon. He was admirable in the
rôle of rescuer. Efficiency showed in everything he did, even to the
sandwiches, and coffee in a thermos bottle, which he had not
forgotten to bring.
“Where’s Dad?” asked Betty, between bites.
“He and Forbes were at First View last night.”
“Does he know we’re safe?”
“Yes. He’s headed for home now.”
Within the hour they were back at the Diamond Bar K. Clint drove up
a few minutes later, Forbes beside him.
The cattleman took his children in his arms and held them close. He
could not talk without breaking down. He dared not put his feeling
into words. They had come back to him from the dead—these two.
Inside of him a river of unshed tears flowed.
Betty left him making over Ruth and slipped into the next room
where some one was waiting for her. Lon Forbes was telling Hollister
some news.
“... Jake’s men found ’em there dead, not three feet apart. Both guns
empty. Four bullets in Jake’s body, five in Don’s—an’ most any one
of ’em a fatal wound. They were that game they wouldn’t quit. It
takes a heap o’ killin’ to finish an old-timer, I’ll say.”
Tremulously, Betty moved forward. “Who?” she asked.
Lon told her. “I’m sorry about Black, but Jake sure had it comin’,” he
finished.
The foreman passed into the other room to tell Clint the news.
In a hushed voice Betty talked the tragedy over with Tug. The
swiftness with which Nemesis had overtaken and obliterated
Prowers was appalling to her. She had a momentary vision, vivid and
amazingly sure, of God in the shadows passing judgment on the sins